Title: Faking It with the Frenemy
Author: Nadia Lee
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic Comedy
Release Date: May 22, 2020
Blurb
Until
today, I never had to fake anything with Wyatt Westland—owner of a demon
cat and my high school sweetheart-turned-nemesis-turned-billionaire tech
genius. But I wouldn't be here by his side right now if I could've found him a
date.
I swore I'd never let myself get involved with Wyatt again after he broke my
heart all those years ago, but he moved in next door with his adorable
daughter. And the sexy single dad vibe he has going on began to thaw my inner
ice queen—the one I perfected just for him.
Then my
eccentric boss asked me to find Wyatt a date to his ex-wife's wedding. My boss
even put a cherry on top of a huge bonus, and I couldn't resist. Of course, not
a single one of the heiresses I set Wyatt up with worked. I'm convinced he ruined each date on purpose, leaving me with no
choice but to step up and stand in as his date myself.
How hard can it be to fake it for just one day, even if every moment reminds me
of all the ways I fell for him the first time?
Faking
It with the Frenemy is a second chance, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers reunion
romance with a matchmaking mom determined to make the heroine marry for money
(love is optional), a billionaire single-dad hero who was the heroine’s first
love, a cat that wants to be a queen, a dog that loves what the cat brings
every morning, and a wild party with certain very inappropriately named treats
from Japan. Love a book with lots of laughter and heart? Then grab Faking It with the Frenemy today!
Purchase Links
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Excerpt
I hop out of bed. The stupid alarm didn’t go off! No time to figure out
why; I need to get ready for work, pronto!
I take the fastest shower in history, then wrap my hair in a turban so
the towel can absorb the water. Not for the first time, I thank my stars that I
won the genetic hair jackpot. It doesn’t go poufy or frizzy. Just stays nice
and sleek without needing to be blow-dried. Another huge towel wrapped around
me, I trot to the kitchen to grab my vitamin C serum from the fridge. I put it
on every morning and night. Looking my best is part of my new identity, and
that means taking care of my skin, among other things.
Just as I finish patting the serum onto my face and put the bottle back
in the fridge, the door to my apartment unlocks. Adrenaline spikes, making my
heart race.
A burglar?
I dismiss the possibility as soon as it pops into my head. Who breaks
into a place this early? It’s barely seven in the morning. Criminals would be
doing it at night or when people are at work. Not to mention the apartment
complex has a locked entry that requires you to have a key or be buzzed in.
It’s probably just Evie, my absentee roommate. She somehow got finagled
into a Vegas marriage, but plans to move back in as soon as she manages to
divorce her crazy boss-cum-husband. Hopefully she isn’t here for moral support,
because I don’t have time to lend a shoulder right now.
The door opens, and a man in a black T-shirt and jeans walks in. A
baseball cap is pressed low on his head, covering most of his face.
Oh God! It is a burglar!
Cold fear pounds through my heart. I freeze, clutching the towel in my
fist as lurid crime headlines flash through my head.
Home Burglary Gone
Wrong: Secretary Slaughtered.
Boyfriend Sexually
Assaults His Ex.
Female Body Found,
Assaulted.
Panic spikes. I have no weapon!
I take a fraction of a second to take stock of my situation. Can’t run
back to the bedroom—the kitchen’s in a nook and the fridge is closer to the
door. The scum’s going to get me—he has a straight path to grab me if I make a
move back to the bedroom. What can I use as a weapon? A knife? I don’t know how
to throw it right, so that’d be like handing it over. Jut slash at him? What if
he knocks it out of my hand and uses it against me? Besides, a kitchen isn’t
the best place to fight. I have a gas stove, and every action-flick kitchen
fight ends with a gas explosion.
But there’s a dirty wine glass in the sink. Yes! I grab it and hurl it at the invader with a scream.
“Shit!” he says, flinching and raising an arm in reflexive defense.
To my shock and irritation, the glass doesn’t even hit him. It flies low
and shatters on the wooden floor at his feet.
Damn it! It was my best chance at hurting the asshole, and I blew it!
Should I just go for a knife anyway? I really wish I had a gun! Or a nice,
large, intruder-fending-off boyfriend like Jo was saying yesterday.
“What the hell?” he demands.
Did he just say what the hell, like he’s
shocked and upset?
“Kim?”
Wait, what? “How do
you know…” Finally he looks up, and I see the still-gorgeous blue eyes and sexy
mouth. The broad forehead and lean jaw line. Recognition hits me like a cast
iron skillet in the face. “Wyatt? What are you doing here?” I
demand, my terror turning into outrage.
“I live here.”
“No, you don’t! This is my apartment.”
“But the—”
“No!” I cut him off before he can make any excuses or weird explanations.
He’ll probably say something asinine, like how he won this place on a bet, too.
My phone is charging on the small table by the couch. I’m calling the
cops and getting this crazy bastard arrested. Getting a wedding date will be
the least of his worries. Hopefully he’ll resist, so the cops will have a
reason to rough him up. I’m not asking for blood—just some good, solid punches.
Maybe a broken jaw.
Gritting my teeth, I come around the kitchen counter fast. Wyatt’s eyes
widen—ha! Bet he wasn’t expecting that!—and he starts toward me.
Oh, crap! I leap for
the phone, in my best grand jeté style,
but he catches me with my toes still a few inches above the floor. His arms
squeeze so tight that the air gets forced out of my lungs like ketchup from a
squirt bottle.
Oh my God. He’s going to crush me until I pop.
“Let…me…go,” I wheeze, squirming and kicking, refusing to die like this.
But the muscles I’m straining against feel like bunched piano wire, and I
make about as much progress against Wyatt as I would against a piece of heavy
construction equipment. This close, he smells like fresh pine soap and laundry
detergent, plus a hint of mint toothpaste on his breath. I should’ve taken up
karate instead of ballet. Then I could’ve broken his nose and legs by now, and
been inhaling the scent of his blood instead.
“Will you stop?” he says. “You’re about to cut your feet up.” He moves,
and there’s a definite crunching noise from the floor.
The wine glass.
Wyatt carries me toward the sofa. “Damn it, Kim. The superintendent gave
me the key to this place. I’m moving in today.”
Author Bio
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nadia Lee writes sexy,
emotional contemporary romance. Born with a love for excellent food, travel and
adventure, she has lived in four different countries, kissed stingrays, been
bitten by a shark, ridden an elephant and petted tigers.
Currently, she shares a condo overlooking a small river and sakura
trees in Japan with her husband and son. When she’s not writing, she can be
found reading books by her favorite authors or planning another trip.
Stay in touch with her via her website, http://www.nadialee.net, or her
blog http://www.nadialee.net/blog
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